


Polarity

by imperfectkreis



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, M/M, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5026054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butch is a little shit and James exercises some poor decision making. Don't think about this too hard, porn for the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polarity

Six months, fourteen days older than his son. Like that matters. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, if not for the way his boy still clings to Butch’s arm, smiling, despite the horrors he’s now seen. Bright and happy, because he’s helping to save the Wasteland, in his own way.

And Butch humors him, brushing off the affection with a scowl, yes, but letting James’ son linger close, chatter on about all the things he’s done and seen since he’s been out of the vault. Almost for six months now. The boy’s dark hair bounces as he talks with his hands, his olive skin flushing as his excitement grows. 

James sits at the end of the bar, nursing his whiskey as the minutes tick by. He’s not inclined to leave his son alone in the Muddy Rudder. The more he drinks the louder he gets, the more Butch smiles at him, sliding one hand down his side. 

His son steps in, pressing his nose to Butch’s shoulder, his arms going slack with the liquor James should have taken from him in the first place. So now he has to step in as well.

“That’s enough for one night.” James puts his hand on his son’s shoulder, pulling him away from Butch. They’re about the same height now. He could have sworn when he left, he was still taller. 

His son laughs into his hand, says “I’m fine, fine!” and laughs again. “Butch was just gonna take me to my room.”

“Was he now?” James glares at the other boy. Butch is already twenty. With his hair slicked up, a glass of liquor on the bar, and a lit cigarette between his fingers. Like his son, he’s been up and through the Wasteland and hasn’t fallen completely to pieces. Made it as far as Rivet City intact, at least. 

Butch smiles, his teeth showing, and drawls, “scout’s honor.”

The way his son rocks back into Butch’s chest, James sincerely doubts that. 

“Come on, son,” James gathers him up, letting him lean against him as they leave the bar. His son waves excitedly at Butch as they go, shouting that he’ll see Butch tomorrow. 

Not if James has anything to do with it.

It’s a chore getting him up to the Waverley. There are too many stairs and he refuses to support his own weight, a floppy mess in James’ arms. But he can’t just leave him on the floor. 

Chief Harkness catches them, giving James’ son a long, disapproving glance. “He’s not normally like this.”

“No,” James huffs, “he’s not.” 

In the end, the two of them are able to get him up the stairs, put to bed. James leaves water by the bedside, strokes his son’s hair. It’s not so very late yet. He just overshot his tolerance. Trying to look big and bad in front of his childhood bully.

James leaves him be, shutting the door on his way out. Vera isn’t around, but she seldom is in the evenings, leaving the robot to tend to the guests. James heads to his own room. He’ll have another drink, maybe read for a bit. In three days they’re supposed to return to the purifier to continue work. Right now the Brotherhood are still clearing super mutant bodies. 

Butch appears at the entrance of the hotel, leaning through the doorway, hands planted on either side of the frame to support himself. “Hey, doc!”

James doesn’t have the patience for Butch. He never has. “What is it, Butch?” 

Butch smiles and stumbles into the hotel lobby. The smell of smoke comes off him in waves, making James feel sick to his stomach. Butch grabs hold of the front of James’ shirt with both hands.

“So you didn’t want me keeping your kid company. What about you?” Butch is a little taller than James, maybe two inches. But he’s narrow and lean in the way only young men can be. All sharp angles and potential. Butch cocks his head to one side and smiles. 

“I don’t have time for your jokes, Butch. You’re drunk, you should go to bed.”

“I ain’t drunk, doc. I ain’t a lightweight like the kid.” But James can taste the scotch on Butch’s breath from the heavy way that he breathes. Butch’s eyes are focused though, and clear. 

Butch shifts his weight from foot to foot. Antsy already with their lack of progress. “Whaddaya say? I know you two have separate rooms.” He bites his tongue, a nub of pink between his teeth before continuing. “Besides, I think you’re more my speed anyway, doc.” His hands slide down until he’s holding onto James’ belt, fingers slipping into the waistband of his slacks, thumbs on the outside running against the leather. Putting his lips to James’ ear, he whispers his suggestion, “bet you’d feel so good, filling me up with your cock. Making me take it.”

“Butch,” he means to make it sound like a warning. Not like arousal swirled with hesitation. He fails. How he fails.

“Mmm,” Butch’s eyes flash towards James’. “You know this ain’t my first time, right? I ain’t some blushing virgin.” He grinds his hips into James, his arousal evident through his vault suit, the line of his cock stark against the thick, unforgiving fabric. “Are you gonna make me beg, doc? Is that what you’re after? Cause I ain’t the type. But for you I might make an exception.”

James reaches into his pocket, fishing out the key for his room. Butch’s lips are at his throat, licking along sensitive, vulnerable beats of his heart. 

“Come,” James doesn’t want to hear his own voice.

Butch follows on his heels. His hands impatiently run down James’ back, clawing at the fabric, as James opens the door. Butch whistles when he sees the place.

“Much nicer than the common room, that’s for sure.”

James ignores the comment. Butch is just trying to get him riled up, force something out of him. He’s not sure what. Instead, James pushes Butch back against the door. Butch spreads his legs apart, letting James slot his hips in between. Through layers of fabric, they can feel each other’s arousal. 

“And what if I want you to beg, Butch?”

There’s that wicked smile again. One that reaches the corners of Butch’s eyes. He’s too young for wrinkles, but they’re already there.

“Please, please, please, doc.” Butch slips between James’ fingers, sliding down, back against the door, until he’s on his knees. “I want your dick so bad.” The words are so good, James can ignore the playful sarcasm, the way they’re just over the top. Because there’s that string of sincerity that’s pulling them along. Like glass beads ready to break open, release the truth. “Let me suck you?”

Butch’s hands are already back at James’ waistband, pulling open the button to his slacks, ready to unfurl the zipper. But he waits for James to nod before pulling it down. Keeping one hand pressed against James’ stomach, he uses the other to pull his cock from his underwear. He looks at it, as if appraising, before smiling, licking the tip with his moist tongue.

Long, it's been a long time since anyone touched James. In general, not only like this, but especially like this. Butch’s hand stays wrapped around James’ cock as he opens his mouth. He's lewd about it, the way he puts his lips around James’ shaft. His mouth is wet, lips curled in around his teeth to keep from scraping. Butch pulls back a little, then presses forward again, still only to about half-way.

James bucks forward, making Butch take more than he was ready for. But Butch, shivers, adjusts, picks back up his pace of too long, too slow strokes of his tongue. James wasn't expecting him to be so, cautious, gentle, not with the way he talks.

Looking down at the head of black hair between his legs, pink lips wrapped around his dick, James wants to make good on Butch’s promises. His suggestions, punctuated between the words he spoke, of how he wants to be treated. James rolls his hips forward, Butch sucking down more and more on each stroke, until Butch is off his knees, sitting flat on the floor, the back of his head hits the door. Until James’ cock is all the way down his throat, Butch’s nose buried in James’ dark hair. Butch sputters, chokes until James pulls back, saliva stringing from his swollen lips.

“Yeah,” Butch coughs again. “Like that, doc. Give it to me like that.”

James strokes back in, slamming Butch’s head against the door. Butch doesn't have his hands anywhere that can soften the blow. His blue eyes tear up on impact, shutting quick to blink back the water. James does it again, listening to Butch whine at the back of his throat.

He's perilously close, what with the way Butch works against his reflexes, lapping at the underside of James’ cock when he can. Pounding against his hips with curled fists when he has to come back up for air.

Butch breathes in big gulps when he’s able. Sucking down air with as much voracity as he did James’ cock.

“You gonna,” Butch breathes again, “you gonna fuck me or what?” His head slacks back against the door. “Fuck.” Butch’s eyes flutter closed.

James waits until Butch opens his eyes again. “Get on the bed.”

Butch pushes himself onto his feet, pulling down the zipper to his vault suit as he walks towards the bed. By the time he reaches the mattress, the suit is already barely hanging off Butch’s slim hips.

James can see the definition of Butch’s back, sinewy and hard, through the thin fabric of his singlet. His arms are defined as well, in a functional sort of way. His ass, still covered by the suit, matches the smallness of his frame. Butch looks back over his shoulder. “You just here to watch?”

“Take everything off.” James makes no move to undress himself, instead, watching Butch as he finishes stripping down. He's slow at first, peeling away his singlet and tossing it aside. Quicker now with the rest of his suit, pushing off his hips, taking his underwear down at the same time. His cock bounces free, hard, flushed. It presses against the flat plane of his stomach like a taunt, like an invitation. 

For the first time, James catches the hesitation in Butch. But just as soon it's gone again, caught somewhere in the pipes over their head. “How do you want me?”

James doesn't tell him; he shows him. Pushing Butch on the the mattress, James bites at Butch’s jaw, just lightly, possessively, not hard enough to mark. There would be no suitable explanation. James rocks back so he can grab Butch’s hips, helping him roll over onto his stomach, his ass sticking up in the air as Butch pulls away from the sheets. He bites again, harder this time, at the junction of Butch’s shoulder and neck. It's hard enough Butch hisses. The collar of his vault suit will hide it tomorrow.

He rubs his hand along the cleft of Butch’s ass, feeling the vibrations coursing through Butch’s body as he's fondled. Butch tenses and releases, muscles twitching. 

James doesn't have lubricant. Just some lotion in his pack, oil meant for machines, nothing suitable to prepare Butch. He didn't think ahead. He didn't think at all.

“Doc, um, ah.” 

James raises his hand, striking it against Butch’s ass once, liking the gasp it elicits. 

“Check in my pocket, doc. The inside one.”

To do that James has to climb off of Butch. He picks up the vault suit, opening the inside chest pocket. There's two single-use packets of lubricant inside. Like Butch has planned this, or at least something like this, from the start. Either that, or this isn't the first time. He said this isn't the first time. What has he been doing since he left the vault. What has his…

From the bed, Butch whines, “Doc.”

He brings both packets with him, shucking his pants but not his shirt on the way back. Ripping the first packet open, James emptying lubricant into his hand. James straddles Butch’s legs, spread only enough for his fingers to slip past. He circles Butch’s hole, smearing lube outside, then in. Butch hisses as James breaches him, his long finger curling inside. James works his finger in and out until Butch feels loose enough to add a second. He hisses again, his thighs tensing, a moan echoing in his mouth.

“You're killing me here,” Butch shifts his legs, not realizing how that would make James’ fingers torque inside him. His breath is just on the edge of pained. “Fuck me.”

The second packet James spreads on his cock. He has to stroke himself back to full hardness. It's easy enough, with Butch spread like a forbidden gift in front of him. His pale back, the curve and angle of his body. Butch says he's done this before, but he doesn't look it. He looks porcelain, prestine. 

James plants one hand at the small of Butch’s back, just where it dips. The other hand he needs to guide his cock into him. It's smooth, easy, though Butch’s breathing isn't. James moves his arm, wrapping it around Butch’s waist to lift him up off the mattress, bringing him up and onto James’ cock the rest of the way. Butch’s head drops forward, his mouth open, gasping.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He pistons his hips back, not all the way. Enough that when he bucks forward again Butch can really feel it, his arms getting loose. James’ impales him again, ripping gasps of “fuck,” from Butch’s throat.

James lets go, letting Butch fall flat against the mattress, his face buried in the pillow, quieting his constant noise. Quieting, not canceling. Because on every stroke James can hear him react, full, needy, desperate for release. It makes James restless too. Wanting to fill Butch up, fuck him until he can't remember his own name.

Tugging his face around, Butch gets his mouth moving again. “Wanted this a long time. Thought about this, ‘n the vault. About your cock. Yeah. Thought about you fucking me. Knew it would be good. Fuck is it good.”

James doesn't want to hear it, because he doesn't want to think about before. Doesn't want to think too deeply about now either. About what it means that he's fucking Butch DeLoria, that punk kid who broke his son’s nose, while that same boy sleeps in the room next door.

“Thought about your hands when you'd touch me, you know, in the clinic? What they would be like, fuck.”

James’ mind races. Faster and faster, to all the times Butch brushed against him unnecessarily, trying to provoke a response. How he would smile like a troublemaker, like something. The way he'd taunt James’ son, the way he leered at him downstairs.

Butch slides his hand between his body and the bed, stroking himself in ragged motions.

“Fuck!” From the way Butch thrashes, James knows he's coming, all over the freshly made bed, seeping into the sheets. Butch couldn't help himself, couldn't. James is too much for him. Too much all at once.

James curls his body over Butch’s slamming his hips down, his cock inside. He listens to Butch’s crying breaths, wordless now as he pants. The slapping of their bodies together is louder still, more vivid. He comes inside Butch, strangled, all at once, biting down on the other shoulder, leaving more teeth marks behind. 

Butch’s words are back. “Hurts, hurts.”

Pushing himself up, James pulls out. He's still shaky, but Butch is overstimulated, still groaning. There are bite marks on either side of Butch’s neck. He doesn't move. James grabs his shirt from the floor, using it to wipe off his softening cock, his stomach too. Butch rolls over, hissing in discomfort.

“I can stay, right? I mean, for the night?” It's a genuine question, empty of mocking snideness. 

James doesn't want him to stay. Doesn't want to wake up next to what he’s done. Doesn't want his son to know. But it would be heartless. James isn't heartless. Mistakes like this don't break a man.

“Yes.”

Butch curls up on the side closest to the wall, his face nearly pressed against it. James throws a towel over the wet spot where Butch came. There's no change of sheets. He keeps his distance at the other side of the bed.

When he wakes in the morning, Butch is pulling on his vault suit.

“Make sure to zip it all the way up.” 

Butch grimaces, but listens. 

“Gotta go, before Vera sees,” Butch waits by the door. When James says nothing, he leaves.


End file.
